


Yes Ma'am

by hermionesmydawg



Series: you belong (to me) [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Brief mention of sex work, Domme Natasha Romanov, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Light Bondage, Professional Dominatrix, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Club, Sub Sam Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-09 22:58:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11114673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermionesmydawg/pseuds/hermionesmydawg
Summary: "Not even a little bit of bondage?" Nat asked him.Sam rolled his eyes. "S'not my thing.""So no flogging, then?""Definitely not," he answered, clenching his jaw.She decided for a gentler approach, giving him a sweet smile while she twirled the celery in her Bloody Mary. "We're all adults here. Granted, some much older and simultaneously less mature than others, but my point is, we're all consenting. And everyone has a dirty little kink, so 'fess up."





	Yes Ma'am

**Author's Note:**

> This work belongs to a series but can be read as a stand-alone if you know these things:
> 
> Natasha worked as a dominatrix after the fall of SHIELD at a BDSM club called 8th Circle, Steve and Bucky have rediscovered their previous D/s relationship and are very Extra, and Sam is just trying to survive all of these shenanigans.
> 
> If you have read the series, the first scene here takes place during the final scene of You Belong (to Me), but from a very different perspective.

Men with beautiful eyes and long eyelashes made her sick. The fact that she willingly contributed to this travesty tonight makes her sicker. She'd helped James with his eyeliner before his and Steve’s first trip to the 8th Circle as a couple. He looked beautiful and they were so happy blah blah blah...  
  
Gag.  
  
Natasha shifted her attention to another pair of ridiculously pretty eyes at her table. This set, while beautiful, definitely wasn't happy. Poor Wilson. BDSM clubs were apparently a "new thing" for him.  
  
"Not even a little bit of bondage?" Nat asked him.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. "S'not my thing."  
  
"So no flogging, then?"  
  
"Definitely not," he answered, clenching his jaw.  
  
She decided for a gentler approach, giving him a sweet smile while she twirled the celery in her Bloody Mary. "We're all adults here. Granted, some much older and simultaneously less mature than others, but my point is, we're all consenting. And everyone has a dirty little kink, so 'fess up."  
  
"What about asexuals?" Sam argued.  
  
"Puns," Natasha deadpanned. "They hoard them like porn, waiting for that perfect opportunity to make you cringe for days."  
  
Sam said nothing.  
  
"I wish I was joking." She nudged him under the table. "Is it a bird thing?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Like furries, but with feathers?"  
  
Sam's pretty eyes - with their disgusting eyelashes - grew round as saucers. "No!"  
  
"Roleplay?"  
  
Sam sighed. "I don't know?"  
  
Nat raised an eyebrow. "Pegging?"  
  
"What?" Sam blinked. "No."  
  
She snapped her fingers. "You hesitated."  
  
"It's not a word usually in my vocabulary," he growled.  
  
Poor, poor Wilson. "You seem a little tense? Need a break from the crowd and overly affectionate super-soldiers?"  
  
"Please?" Sam asks.  
  
"Please what?" Nat purred.  
  
Sam sighed, obviously regretting ever stepping foot in this beautiful place. "Please, Mistress?"  
  
"Much better." And if Natasha thought those words sounded sugary sweet coming from his lips, well...she'd just rationalize it as being an effect of their environment. "Follow me," she said, pulling him from his seat. "Hey lovebirds, we're going for a walk."  
  
Steve tilted his head, like _oops_ , he'd forgotten they were even seated next to him and Bucky. "Oh, okay. Hey, don't worry Sam, it's intimidating but these are good people."  
  
"Yeah," Bucky echoed, popping the gum in his mouth obnoxiously. Natasha yearned to slap him.  "They don't bite unless you ask."  
  
"You know what-"  
  
Natasha gripped Sam's bicep, dragging him towards the elevator. "He's just trying to get your goat."  
  
"Is that some more kink terminology I should be aware of here?"  
  
Natasha smirked. "Stop worrying that pretty little head of yours. You're safe with me."  
  
Up the elevator, through some doors, and then to the Hall of Masters - that's how long it took Sam to figure out that "take a walk" had nothing to do with escaping for fresh air. "Um. The fuck?"  
  
"My dungeon," Natasha shared proudly, unlocking the door and swinging it open with her boot. She flicked the lights on, severely killing the aura of the whole room. "See? Not so scary with the lights on, is it?"  
  
Sam stepped inside cautiously, letting her bump him past the doorway. "Still not a fan of the whips. Or the cuffs."  
  
There was more to her dungeon than just the torture devices - not much, but a little. "I prefer the riding crops, personally." She pulled one from a wall hook, twirling it in her hand. "Small, pretty, and bone-crushing."  
  
Sam narrowed his eyes. "We talking 'bout you or the crop?"  
  
"Flattery can get you anything, Wilson," she smirked. "Except freedom from my dungeon."  
  
"And how does one get that?" Sam crossed his arms. He looked at the wide open door but didn't dare take a step toward it.  
  
Natasha tapped her palm with the crop. "Well, usually they pay me."  
  
Sam glared. He really was adorable.  
  
"I just want to prove that there's more to being kinky than what Elvira Mistress of the Dark taught you." Sam laughed, so she laughed, waving the crop in the air. "There's something for everyone here. This room is carefully crafted for fun, from the ceiling to the floors."  
  
Ducking his head, Sam kicked his shoe at a cracked piece of the floor. "I get the whole aesthetic thing or whatever, but these floors look like shit."  
  
Ah yes, the floors. Hell to crawl on, but they were perfect indeed, even if they looked terrible. "There's a reason for it. Drop to your knees."  
  
Sam did, wincing. "Ouch."  
  
Natasha stood with her mouth agape. That was too fucking easy. She gathered herself, tucking the leather keeper of the crop under his chin to force his attention up to her. "Sam," she chided. "It took you less than five minutes to fall to your knees in a dominatrix's lair."  
  
He gulped, looking a little like an animal stuck in a trap. Fitting, she supposed. "But," he said. "You...told me...to. Shit."  
  
"And you listened so well," she praised. "Good at following orders aren't you, soldier?"  
  
"Not a -" Sam started, then cleared his throat with a growl.  
  
"Technically, no. But whether you see it or not, that need is ingrained in you. It's why you jumped to follow Steve straight into battle." She smacked herself in the thigh. "How have I never put this together before?! It's so obvious!"  
  
"What is so obvious?"  
  
"You!" Nat grinned. She moved to hang the riding crop back in its proper place. No need to further intimidate her friend tonight, especially not when he'd probably do any damn thing she told him to anyway. "You may exit my dungeon, after-"  
  
"After?" Sam interrupted.  
  
"After I have properly diagnosed what tickles your fancy. Tightens your drawers. Whatever."  
  
"Whatever," Sam echoed dully from his kneeling position. "You really do think you know everything, don't you?"  
  
Natasha shrugged. "Some things, yes. I know you're a pleaser. Probably got a sweet little praise kink, too."  
  
Sam curled his lips but voiced no denial so she continued. "That's not the fun part, though. Nope. You're an adrenaline junkie, admit it. You don't want the pain but you love the danger. That's why you look so uncomfortable tonight. Because you wanna play and you don't know how."  
  
Then it was Sam's turn to shrug. "You don't know me," he said, far too casually.  
  
Natasha laughed, pulling Sam to his feet. Much to his relief, she pushed him through the open door of her dungeon and, presumably, freedom. "Oh honey, but I do."

 

* * *

  
  
She was off her game.  
  
Steve and Bucky, yeah, she was okay with them besting her from time to time. But Sam? _No._ Under no circumstances should he have just pinned her back flat on the mat. "That's not one of your moves."  
  
"Must be, since I just did it."  
  
Nat glared, wiggling under his weight. "That's a Winter Soldier move, known it for years."  
  
"So then you know how to get out of it," Sam smirked. "You're breathing a little heavy, you alright?"  
  
"Your pupils are dilated," she observed. "A ridiculously obvious sign of arousal. And now you're blushing. Methinks you might like the idea of having my thighs around your neck."  
  
Sam winked, the cocky bastard.  
  
"Um," Steve interrupted from the stationary bikes. Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha could tell that he and Bucky shared quizzical head tilts.  
  
"What is this, what's happening, what's going on here?" Bucky asked, waving a hand in their general direction.  
  
Steve cleared his throat. "I think they're flirting."  
  
"Natasha doesn't flirt," Bucky argued. "She _maims._ "  
  
"No no, she flirts. It's just usually a precursor to the maiming."  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. "No one is getting maimed here - in fact, I'm winning."  
  
Nat took that opportunity to untangle herself and flip their positions, holding Sam's shoulders with her knees as she sat on his chest. "You were saying?"  
  
"This your preferred position?" Sam teased.  
  
Her nostrils flared. What kinda game was he playing with her? One he wouldn't win, that's what. She always wins.  
  
"Nope." She smiled devilishly, grabbing his wrists to pin them over his head. "Much better."  
  
It was supposed to be a joke, of course, but it felt intimate and a little too real - her chest heaving inches from his lips, his warm brown eyes staring at her in disbelief. _Shit._ _  
_  
"Anyway," she mumbled, releasing his wrists and rolling to the mat. "I win."  
  
His voice sounded strained, bordering on a whimper. "Whatever you say, Mistress."

 

* * *

  
  
It'd been a long time. Like. A _really_ long time since she'd had some sex. And that was fine with her.  
  
Natasha wasn't what most people would call "normal." Sexuality was a weapon, a tool to obtain what she needed - information, access, entertainment. Romance was a state of mind that clouded judgment. Sex was unnecessary but fun. That mentality was why she made such a good dominatrix - she was never tempted to fuck her clients. And she trusted so few people in this world that if she did seek out intimacy, it was always from a close friend.  
  
So of course, now, she was letting innocent flirtation with Sam turn into some sort of fantasy where he shows up at her doorstep and crawls to her bed like the pliant puppy he was, ready to be used and discarded when she'd had her fill. Because even someone like her craved attention from time to time.  
  
She knew Sam deserved someone better than her, was the thing. So she was just going to keep this to herself.

 

* * *

 

  
When someone actually did knock on her door one evening, that brief fantasy flashed before her eyes again before common sense took over and she grabbed one of her Glocks. She waited a safe distance from the door for another knock, then called out, "Who is it?"  
  
"Pizza delivery," a familiar voice called back.  
  
She didn't bother to put her gun away before answering the door. Sam walked in - with pizza at least - and gave her gun the stink eye. "Anyone ever tell you you're paranoid?"  
  
"Yes. You," she replied, helping herself to a slice. Italian sausage and mushroom, her favorite. "To what do I owe the honor of being fed tonight?"  
  
Sam slid the pizza box on her coffee table, wiping his hands on his jeans, then wringing them together. Nervous? Hmm. "You, uh. Ya kinda got me fucked up, Nat."  
  
Her pizza drooped. "I...have _you_ fucked up?"  
  
"Well, yeah." He met her eyes. "You've always been, ya know, a little untouchable, a lot dangerous. But ever since you pulled that dominatrix shit on me I've been mentally graphing the ratio of touching to ass kicking values on a pretty regular basis."  
  
Natasha smiled. "And your conclusion?"  
  
"Most likely worth it," he admitted.  
  
She glanced down at her baggy sweatshirt and gym shorts, a far cry from the fetish-wear she sported that night at the club. "If you've come here seeking Mistress Natasha, I apologize. I seem to have left my riding crop in my other leather bustier."  
  
Sam shook his head. "See, this is where you _don't_ know everything. It's not about the clothes, or the toys, or the dungeon. Your aura does more to demand respect than all those things combined."  
  
"Even in a sweatshirt?"  
  
"Especially in a sweatshirt."  
  
Natasha tucked her hair behind her ear, stood a little straighter. "I don't do romance," she said.  
  
"Was that romantic?" Sam asked. "Not my intention."  
  
Sam was smooth - even when he was a little unsure he could still find something to say. Unlike her, who responded with, "Are you hungry?"  
  
"For what?"  
  
"Pizza." She held the remainder of her slice up.  
  
"Ah." Sam smiled. "Then, no."  
  
"I need," she started, shoving her pizza in her mouth, "jush a shecond."  
  
She backed away, closing the door to her bedroom after she entered. Scrubbed the mushrooms and fennel out of her mouth, did a sniff test, and checked the expiration date on her box of condoms. Still good, barely. And in the closet she stared at a dusty box of toys - her own - that had been long neglected beneath a pile of shoes. She didn't want to overwhelm him, but at the same time, he wanted the Experience. A cloud of dust made her sneeze as she flipped it open.  
  
Okay, she told herself as she pulled out a few simple supplies. Be a domme. Get the sex. Blow Wilson's mind. Ruin him. He'll love it.  
  
Natasha opened her bedroom door with a dramatic flair that'd put Steve Rogers to shame. Sam was exactly where she left him. This...this could work. "So we're doing this?"  
  
"You're the boss here. Shouldn't you tell, not ask?"  
  
"I require one hundred percent consent." She folded her arms over her chest. "Strip. Shoes and socks by the door, shirt and jeans on top of them, folded."  
  
Sam raised his eyebrows, like _oh_ , before complying.  
  
"You're a noob, so we'll go with the traffic light system," she said, watching him disrobe. "Red means stop, yellow is slow down, green is go. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Nat cleared her throat, loudly.  
  
Sam tugged his shirt over his head and began to fold it. He blushed and Nat ogled. "Yes, Mistress."  
  
Despite her attempt not to, she snorted. "I'm just messing with you because I can. No more mistress. That doesn't sound natural coming from you at all."  
  
"You're wicked," he said, unfastening his pants.  
  
"I know. Color?"  
  
After folding his jeans, Sam dropped them atop his small pile at the door and stood up proudly in his designer boxer briefs. "Green."  
  
Natasha snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor. Sam fell to his knees but that wasn't good enough - she pointed to the floor again and he dropped his palms to the carpet. Much more forgiving than the wood of her dungeon. She curled her finger, coaxing him to crawl to the bedroom. "Due to my work - and, well, my _work_ \- I get tested often. I'm clean but prefer to use condoms anyway."  
  
"Same, and same."  
  
There was a chest at the foot of her bed, with contents she'd rather not discuss with most people. Natasha sat on it and crossed her legs, rolling her ankle as she watched Sam crawl, lithe as a cat. It was twenty times better in person than she'd imagined in her head.  
  
He stopped at her feet, sitting back on his heels. Maybe he'd never done this before but he sure was good at it. "You're beautiful like this," she said, doting on him.  
  
Sam blinked. "Naked?"  
  
Not naked enough, Nat thought. But it was more than the clean lines of his muscular back, his perfect skin that shone in the dull light from her lamp, or the rugged masculinity that countered the softness in his eyes. She was overwhelmed that, even if just for a moment, he was hers.  
  
"Sitting at my feet," she corrected. In a deceptively delicate move, she traced the lines of his jaw with her fingertips. "So pretty."  
  
Knowing Sam, she thought he might fight being called pretty. Instead, he dropped his eyes and laid a kiss to her palm. A surge of electricity - power - set her skin afire. That confirmed her feelings on the situation - she wanted to do bad, bad things to this man.  
  
Natasha pinched Sam's chin. "Pick a number between one and ten."  
  
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The number game was an old Dom trick, one she's never gotten to use in private before. Looked like a lot of firsts for her and Sam tonight. "Two," he said.  
  
Conservative, interesting. "That's how many times I'm going to come before you're allowed to fuck me tonight."  
  
Sam exhaled, like he was honestly worried about his choice before. Two was doable. Ten, now that would have been interesting.  
  
Nat grinned. "Now pick a number between one and five."  
  
The wheels were spinning in his head, she could see. Slowly he said, "Four."  
  
"Oooooh," she laughed. "That's how many days before you get to put your clothes back on. You don't have any pressing plans, I hope."  
  
"No." He shook his head but her grip on his chin didn't allow for much movement. "And if I get cold?"  
  
"Don't worry." Leaning in close, she gave him a sweet kiss on the lips. "You won't."  
  
Natasha left him on the floor momentarily, stepping into the closet to grab a few things unlikely to scare him away. She came back quickly and stared down at him, waiting for the eye contact that didn't come. So good. "Up," she ordered.  
  
"Yes, ma'am," he drawled playfully, hopping to his feet.  
  
"Ma'am? I like it." She dropped the stuff in her arms with the exception of two leather wrist gauntlets, sexier and more forgiving than cuffs. Grabbing his left wrist, she placed it on her chest and began lacing it up to his elbow. "These are multipurpose," she explained. "There's a D ring on each so I can tie you up you more comfortably, to the bed or wherever else I choose."  
  
"And the other purpose?"  
  
"They're hot as hell," Nat answered, grinning like a cat with a mouse. She tied a bow and dropped his hand, moving to the next wrist.  
  
"I feel like Thor," Sam said, admiring his forearms.  
  
Natasha chuckled, tying up the second gauntlet. The view was good. It needed to be better. She slipped her fingers in the waistband of his underwear, swiftly pulling them down to his ankles. Sam was half hard and not at all ashamed of being stripped naked by her.  
  
Yes. Much better. She hummed her approval. "Nice dick."  
  
"Thanks." It bounced as if it was saying hello.  
  
She wiggled her eyebrows. "He'd look nice in leather, too."  
  
Sam's dick didn't so much bounce this time as it did jerk involuntarily.  
  
She gently pinched the skin below his navel, then used her nails to mark the circumference of his waist as she circled him, enjoying the view. "And your ass is fantastic," she said, squeezing a handful. Sam didn't respond this time, so she asked, "Does it bother you? Being on display?"  
  
He shrugged. "Not particularly."  
  
"I like looking at you."  
  
"Then I like it, too."  
  
"Any hard limits I should know about?" Nat asked seriously.  
  
"Um." Sam frowned. "I'm not that keen on most of the hitting, honestly. Is that okay?"  
  
She tilted her head, then grabbed the back of his neck. "Rule number one. If you don't like it, I don't like it."  
  
He gulped. "Bucky says you're a sadist."  
  
"Sure, maybe. But he's a masochist. You're not." Standing on her tiptoes, she tugged him down until their lips met. Soft and sweet, until it wasn't. She sucked his bottom lip between her teeth, releasing only when he gasped in her mouth. Then she was sweet again, tenderly brushing her lips against his bruise. "There's so, so many other things I can do."  
  
Sam murmured, "So do them."  
  
"I'm giving the orders here."  
  
He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."  
  
Chances were pretty good that Sam was actually going to ruin her far worse than she would him. The only thing better than a sub that was afraid of her was a sub who wasn't.  
  
"Undress me," she ordered.  
  
With confident fingers he pointed her arms toward the ceiling, lifting the sweatshirt over her head in one swift motion. Her hair settled on her shoulders and her breasts bounced as her arms fell. Sam looked like a kid in a candy shop. Or a straight dude in a boob shop. Understandable. She had amazing boobs.  
  
Sam licked his lips and dropped to one knee, slowly dragging her shorts and underwear over the curve of her hips. Then, because he was a fast learner, he folded her clothes and placed them on the chest at the foot her of her bed. "May I kiss you?" he asked.  
  
Honestly, Sam? An angel. "I'll kick you out if you don't," she answered.  
  
He smiled. Placing his palms on the floor, he kissed the inside of her ankles, her calves, knees, thighs, then hipbones as he worked his way from the ground up. Instead of standing, he grasped her hips and kissed her curves. Her waist, the jut of her hips, the little pooch of her belly. Goosebumps rose in the wake in his lips though she felt obscenely warm between her thighs.  
  
Just for the record, it was very difficult to be a big bad domme when a man was turning her into a standing pile of putty. Natasha rested a hand on his head. "What's your strategy here?"  
  
Big brown eyes looked up at her. "I'm earning it."  
  
"Yes you are," she hummed. She curled her feet outward, wiggling her toes as she slowly parted her legs. She raised an eyebrow, initiating a challenge for him.  
  
Unsurprisingly, he rose to the challenge, nipping his teeth across the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Bless him. Given how kind he could be, she'd worried he might be too soft for her liking.  
  
Then Natasha did something she rarely allowed herself to do in such a vulnerable state. She closed her eyes and did nothing but feel. She felt his lips move higher, a gentle kiss placed on her clitoris before he spread her open with his tongue. Felt a contented hum reverberate through her bones, the goddamn needy way his fingers dug into her hips as he tasted her, and her own pulse pounding in her ears.  
  
It felt good.  
  
Always so steady on her feet, only a trained expert would have noticed when her knees began to shake. Regardless of what romance novels professed, reaching orgasm in awkward positions didn't usually happen. But Sam. Even on his hands and knees he really knew his way around a pussy.  
  
She came softly, laughing with glee. When Sam looked at her, she thought the laughing probably scared him more than anything else she'd ever done. "Funny?" he asked.  
  
"Hysterical," she breathed, running her thumb along the worry lines on his forehead. "One down."  
  
"One to go."  
  
Natasha nudged him away, a knee to the chest, and steadied her breathing. Her blood was pumping. Now she was ready to play. "The next won't come so easily. No pun intended. Actually, yes, pun intended."  
  
Sam absentmindedly wiped his fingers over his chin. "So I gotta work for it?"  
  
"Problem?" she asked, taking tiny steps away from him.  
  
His response was to crawl behind her. "I wouldn't be here if it was."  
  
There were some things that just shouldn't be done in the nude. Crouching. Heavy lifting. Complicated math equations. But what about sexy wrestling? The ancient Greeks competed in the nude. Surely she and Sam could play without ruining the mood. She crooked her finger, beckoning him to her. "Catch me if you can."  
  
Sam lashed out quickly, nearly catching her ankle as she gracefully rolled over her bed. Now behind him, she kicked him square in the ass. "You can stand up for this, you know," she teased.  
  
He glared at her, rising slowly to his feet. Goddamn, he was a sight to behold. Something about him just screamed power, which made her want to command him even more. Steve and Bucky were like gods, gifted by something more powerful than all of them. But Sam was the salt of the Earth - solid, humble. He'd been stomped on by many and endured because of his strength.  
  
"I've bested you before," Sam said. "I could do it again."  
  
Natasha smiled. "I'm counting on it."  
  
Sam wanted the challenge. She could see in his eyes. And then he leapt for her, making her think he was aiming to bring her to the floor. As she side-stepped to roll over the bed again, he twisted and tackled her in the air. They landed in a heap on the bed, wrestling for control.  
  
"I'm stronger than you," he grunted as she squirmed beneath him.  
  
"Debatable," she huffed, even though he was clearly overpowering her. She wouldn't tell him the truth - it's what she wanted. "Don't act like you're not enjoying this."  
  
"Of course, oof -" Sam coughed as she elbowed him in the gut, flipping them over. He rubbed his stomach. "Damn woman, that was rough."  
  
She forced his wrists down, straddling his stomach. This was much like their normal sparring sessions, just...naked. And more fulfilling. He struggled weakly against her attempts to restrain him, so she laughed. Leaning her full weight on his wrists, she nipped at his shoulder before whispering, "Little hint, Sam. I like it rough."  
  
Sam gritted his teeth and fought back, for real this time. He pushed up, and even with her weight as leverage he was able to raise his arms from the bed. With a grunt he forced himself up, grabbing her wrists and pinning her face down on the bed. His voice shook from exertion. "Rough enough?"  
  
"Nope," she said, voice muffled by her comforter. She writhed underneath him as he adjusted his grip of her wrists to just one hand.  
  
"Okay then." Then she felt his knees nudging her legs apart and at least two fingers being shoved inside of her. She yelped and instinctively tried to close her legs even though that was the last fucking thing she wanted to do. It hurt. It felt amazing. She wanted more.  
  
But Sam - he wasn't as into it as she was all of a sudden. The hold he had on her loosened and he sighed, disappointed. "Yellow."  
  
Okay.  
  
Pulling her arms up under her chest, Natasha exhaled. "You wanna talk about it?"  
  
"No, just - if you want rough I need you to be the aggressor."  
  
"Sure." She shrugged, moving to roll over. A firm hand pushed her shoulder into the bed again.  
  
Sam chuckled and scissored his fingers - yes, they were still inside her - before bending to take a sharp bite out of her right butt cheek. "Pretty sure I said yellow, not red."  
  
"You're catching on pretty fast." He bit her again. She winced but couldn't stop her hips from undulating against his hand.  
  
"See," he said, softly kissing his bites. The contrast between the sweetness of his lips and the harsh exploration of his fingers was, honestly, heavenly. "You think you got me pegged-"  
  
"I have you for four days, it's on my wish list," she interrupted.  
  
Just for that he added another finger. She moaned into the bedding, and she knew Sam well enough to sense a grin just brightened his face. He found the spot that made her moan again and continued his thoughts. "Anyway. I think it's interesting that you call me an adrenaline junkie when you get off on fear. Others, I would expect that. Your own, that's a surprise."  
  
"Well, we are what we are," she sighed. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to focus her concentration on nothing but Sam - his hands on her, _in_ her, the nudge of his cock against her thigh. Good. It was all good. "You gonna keep psychoanalyzing me or you gonna make me come?"  
  
"I might keep psychoanalyzing you."  
  
"It's a shame you'll never get to fuck me, then."  
  
"I misspoke, what I meant to say was that I'm gonna make you come."  
  
Natasha cleared her throat pointedly, to which he added, "Ma'am."  
  
"Much better," she said. Sam withdrew his fingers and she immediately responded with, "Much worse."  
  
"Would your majesty mind rolling over?"  
  
Natasha flipped onto her back, shooting up a glare. "Now you're just being a smartass."  
  
"Sorry, _ma'am_." Sam made a show of licking his fingers, even the ones that hadn't been inside her. He was forgiven. "Any body parts off limits?"  
  
"Ears," she said.  
  
Sam shrugged like, okay whatever, and dipped his head to draw a nipple into his mouth. The sweet, meek game from when he was on his knees was over now. He bit, sucking her between his teeth as he flicked his tongue. Right as he slipped two fingers inside her again, she took a second to openly admire him, from his taut abs to his impressively muscled thighs.  
  
Wonder what he tastes like, she thought. Interesting, that she cared.  
  
She cared, at least, until he pressed his ring finger against her asshole. That kinda had a tendency to put a damper on thoughts and feelings other than "hnnnnng."  
  
"You say something?" He asked, voice low and teasing.  
  
"I said hnnnng," Natasha snapped. "It’s Russian for stop and I'll slap you."  
  
"You'd like that."  
  
He's not wrong, she thought, gritting her teeth. She could feel the pressure building again, deeper and more intense than the first time. Thank God he only had to give her one more orgasm before she could ride him into the sunset. She needed something more...substantial inside of her.  
  
And Sam was very substantial.  
  
She could sense him smirking. She wanted to smack it right off his face but she was a little deep in thought about the multitudes of fingers doing all the things they were doing, and also that the fingers were connected to Sam. Sweet, reckless Sam that always jumped in head first and wow, he did that again tonight. She giggled.  
  
"This is funny?" he asked.  
  
"Shoosh, I'm concentrating." She palmed the heel of her hand down her chest and abdomen until her fingers found Sam's thumb, just slightly off from where she wanted it. One little adjustment and some help from her own fingers sealed the deal. This orgasm hit her deep, pulling the last shred of reserve from inside her.  
  
She gasped like a schoolgirl being touched for the first time. She didn't care. She felt good, and as much as she loathed to admit it, even she deserved that every once in awhile.  
  
"You're good," she sighed, watching his face flash with something akin to delight. "You don't hear that enough, do you?"  
  
Sam shrugged. "Who doesn't like to be told they're good?"  
  
Natasha laughed. "I'm a dominatrix. You wouldn't believe how many people want to be told they're worthless pieces of shit that don't deserve to be scraped off the bottom of my boots. But not you. You'd never ask for praise but I _know you._ "  
  
He shrugged again, a fake show show of nonchalance.  
  
"Well, why don't you be good for me and lie on your back?" Natasha asked, tugging at the loops on his wrist gauntlets. "Hands above your head."  
  
Sam went willingly, his furrowed brow the only outward sign of concern for what might happen to him. Natasha sat on his chest, stroking the soft skin of the underside of his arms. Goosebumps rose beneath her fingers. For some reason that was cute as hell.  
  
"You're so responsive," she said. He licked his lips. "You've been so patient, haven't you? Haven't once begged for me to touch you. But you need it."  
  
Sam nodded.  
  
Natasha reached for a line of rope, looping it through the D-rings on the gauntlets and knotting it around a slat on her headboard. "Would you beg for me now?"  
  
He nodded again so she quirked an eyebrow. Not the response she wanted. "Please," he corrected.  
  
"I think you can do better than that." Sliding down his torso, she pinched one of his nipples. He squirmed under her weight. "You like that?"  
  
"Yes. Ma'am," he added.  
  
"Okay, I won't do it again," she responded flippantly.  
  
"No!" Sam gritted his teeth. "Please do it again."  
  
"Do what again?"  
  
Poor thing. Natasha found his lack of dirty talk sweet and endearing. Made it even more fun to squeak it out of him. She rubbed the pad of her thumb over his nipple again, watching it come to a tight little peak. "Do what again?" she repeated.  
  
"Please," Sam sighed. Conceding defeat was a beautiful thing. "Please do nipple thing again."  
  
Natasha smiled, squeezing both of his nipples at the same time. He yelped so she continued to repeat the motion, rubbing gently at first before pinching. After a particularly rough twist, she dipped her head to kiss the tender skin, giving him little kitten licks before sinking her teeth in. "See? Was that so hard?"  
  
Sam's response was a laughable, "Hnng."  
  
"Oh." Turning her head, she made it obvious that she was staring at his dick, erection flagging but growing in interest again. "I guess a little hard."  
  
He opened his mouth, probably with a quip on his tongue about not being so little, but she tsked at him before he could. "Were you about to ask for something else, Sam?"  
  
"May I?"  
  
"Of course." Natasha thumbed over his nipples, his clavicle, and neck; she rested her hands under his chin, applying just the slightest amount of pressure. " _Moy khoroshiy,_ tell your domme what you want."  
  
Sam gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing against her palms. "Have I been good enough for a blow job?"  
  
"You've been good enough for anal," Natasha answered with a laugh. She raised his chin a little higher with her thumb. "Is that something you've thought about before - my mouth on your cock?"  
  
He nodded eagerly, unashamed.  
  
"It's the lipstick, isn't it?" she asked. "Sweet Sam, thinking about red smeared all over that pretty dick of yours."  
  
When his eyes widened, she knew she'd guessed right. Clearing her throat, she scooted off of him and deadpanned, "Don't go anywhere," before going to the bathroom to rummage through her lipsticks. Some of them tasted like utter shit. One, a horrible orange that clashed with her skin and hair, had some sort of toxin in it. Long story. But she found a nice raspberry shade that actually tasted like berries, good for a night just like this.  
  
"This would actually be a really nice color on _you_ ," she mused as she approached the bed again, applying a thick layer of color to her lips.  
  
Sam narrowed his eyes, silently warning "don't you dare."  
  
She capped the tube with a classy snort and pinched his cheeks, forcing a pout for her to plant a heavy kiss to. Just enough color remained on his mouth when she pulled away to brighten his lips. In other words, just enough to make her want to ride his face. No time for that now. Maybe tomorrow. "Goddamn, you're beautiful," she teased.  
  
Sam batted his eyelashes. Cute.  
  
Her lips traveled his body, leaving faint purple shadows over his neck, chest, hips. She spread his legs, sinking her teeth into the meat of his upper thigh. If she was going to suck a dick - admittedly, not one of her strong suits - then she at least needed to torture him a little more first. Patience was a virtue, and Sam was a goddamn angel.  
  
She skimmed over his hips and belly to his other leg, all the while softly toying at his balls. A little pleasure, a little pain, she thought as she bit at his tender skin. Her modus operandi. She heard a faint, "please" from the head of the bed. Good for him - he was learning.  
  
Using her thumb, Nat applied pressure at the base of his cock and swallowed him down in one swift motion. She heard him swear under his breath, clearly expecting the torture to last a while longer. But she was nothing if not unpredictable. Closing her lips tight around his length, she dragged her mouth up slowly, maintaining eye contact with her captive.  
  
She pulled away and admired the lipstick smears. "Nice."  
  
Sam's chest heaved. "Yeah, you could say that again."  
  
"Nice," she said again with a smirk. She dribbled a little spit on the head of his cock, spreading it with her fingers. "But, after all this, do you really just want a blow job? I mean, it's pretty close to the bottom on my list of things I'm good at."  
  
"What's at the top?" Sam asked heavily.  
  
"Me," she answered sweetly, "on top."  
  
"Oh. Okay." Sam tried to lower his arms, grimacing in annoyance when he remembered they were bound to the headboard. He had no choice but to simply watch as Nat sifted through the pile of goods on her bed, producing a condom and small bottle of lube. "Okay," he said again.  
  
Natasha slid the condom over his erection and drizzled him with lube. His toes wiggled excitedly. "You're so cute. I almost feel bad that I have you tied to my bed. _Almost._ "  
  
"If it's any consolation," he started, then sucked in a gasp of air through his teeth as she stroked him hard and fast for a moment, then painfully slow, then fast again. "Uhh. I'm totally cool with being tied to your bed. Do your worst, Mistress Natasha."  
  
Natasha chuckled. She lined herself up on his lap, breathing deeply as she sunk slow and easy down the length of him until her ass rested on his hips. And God, she needed a minute or ten to adjust because it had been a really fucking long time. In a way, she thought her desire for kink and tricks in the bedroom had a lot to do with delaying this, the burning stretch that felt just as good as it hurt. Her eyes watered, but she welcomed the sensation.  
  
Sam had his eyes squeezed closed, his breathing as labored as her own. She braced one hand over his bound wrists and grasped his face with the other. "Eyes on me."  
  
He blinked, focusing his eyes on her.  
  
"Good." She rested her hand on the curve of his neck. "I can't wait to see the faces you make when you come."  
  
"Oh my God," Sam mumbled.  
  
" _Sakharok,_ " she purred. "God can't help you tonight."

 

* * *

  
  
The next morning, Natasha sat against her headboard with a steaming cup of black coffee, smirking to herself as she watched Sam sleep. Patches of raspberry lipstick still littered his skin but he was free from the leather on his wrists. It only took a couple of minutes of loud slurps and the aroma of French roast to stir him from his slumber.  
  
Sam groaned and stretched, but froze at the jingling noise that came from the foot of the bed.  
  
Natasha sipped her coffee. "Good morning."  
  
Extending his leg from under the blankets, Sam raised his foot in the air. A leather cuff was belted around his ankle with a long metal chain dangling from it. "You chained me to your bed?"  
  
"It's long enough that you can navigate most of my apartment. But if it's a problem, the key is on your nightstand," she said, nodding her head. A cup of coffee and a bagel sat next to the key. She had no idea what Sam liked for breakfast, so she tried to work with what she had.  
  
Sam reached for the key but his hand came back with the coffee instead. "What's the point of locking me up if I have the key?"  
  
Natasha hummed. "To see if you'll stay."  
  
She could see the wheels spinning in his head, replaying the agreement they'd come to the night before. Four days in her keep, with three more to go. That he didn't immediately up and run was a good sign. _Though_ , he didn't yet know that naked Trivial Pursuit was her idea of an awesome way to pass the time, either.  
  
"Steve'll worry if I disappear," Sam said cautiously, still making no move to leave. Funny, Steve wasn't a concern when he was on his knees the night before.  
  
"Don't worry." Natasha smiled. "Somehow, I think he'll understand."

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hey on [tumblr](http://anthonystan.tumblr.com), I don't bite unless you ask nicely.


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